A Wail Unheard
by AwesomeGizmo
Summary: Alexander Hamilton prided himself on always knowing what to do and always being able to think his way out of anything. Yet, he could not for the life of him, think of a way out of the dagger being placed at his neck.


**A.N: So before the standard disclaimer lemme just say I KNOW that this is horrendously OOC and no where near accurate, but it popped into my head and I couldn't let it go so here we are. Also, I've never written for this fandom before, so it was a learning experience on my part as well. (I also secretly enjoy torturing poor George and Alex, so...)**

 **Disclaimer: I own nothing, all rights go to their respective owners**.

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Alexander Hamilton prided himself on taking strife in stride throughout life. His writings were succinct, precise, proficient; he'd fought for the cards he'd been given and clawed his way through life and into George Washington's staff. He'd survived his mother, his cousin, the hurricane. Hamilton _always_ knew what to do and he could _always_ think his way out of everything.

Yet he could not, for the life of him, think of a way out of the dagger that was being placed at his neck. Or the accompanying redcoat jeering down at him.

"Make a noise and my associates will slit the Marquis' and John Lauren's throat." Alexander's eyes widened at the threat, his head nodding slowly before he was even conscious of the movement.

"Come along with me then, _Officer,_ " the redcoat spat his title like a curse, rousing the smaller man from his bed "you'll be assisting us with a little endeavour tonight."

Hamilton, for once in his life, kept silent as he was lead by both knife and gunpoint to a darker corner of the camp, ducking watchmen and comrades alike. Though Alexander longed to scream for help, pride be damned, the threat to his own life and that of his friends weighed too heavily upon his heart.

Eventually he was sat roughly upon a fallen tree's stump, his hands bound in front of him while a man stayed watching him with a loaded gun and a finger upon the trigger. Meanwhile, the other enemy officers began to strip and change into different uniforms; the uniforms of the revolutionists.

It didn't take long for Alexander to realize what his part in this crime would be, and he vowed then and there that he would do everything in his power to stop it; even if it killed him.

"Now there, Officer Hamilton," he was beginning to really hate that voice, "as we understand it _you_ are General Washington's little favourite. We also understand that it is not an uncommon occurrence for you to creep back to your work in the dead of night, occasionally with messengers."

Alexander's eyes were wide and fierce, the fire inside them brighter than the lantern beside him.

"If you think I'll commit any such treachery against General Washington you will be sorely disappointed; best slit my throat here than even voice your degenerate plan."

"There's that tongue we've heard so much about." The redcoat seized Alexander's jaw forcing him to look into his eyes, "I bid you now hold it, lest we cut it out and rouse another of Washington's staff in your place. Do you think us senseless? We have managed to sneak into the midst of the camp of the enemy without detection, we could have had you and your entire tent dead, perhaps more, before any were aware of our presence."

The young aide tried to jerk his head away, but only succeeded in the grip growing stronger.

"We still could. The only reason you all haven't been massacred here tonight is that _you_ Hamilton, are useful to us. You either heed my orders now, or I can do as you wish and slit that pretty throat of yours and those of your comrades."

Their leader, Smith was his name, smirked as he observed the fight leave the boy's eyes, how his shoulders slumped and his head bowed. There would be no problem now.

Yet inside the young officer's mind raged a forming plan, a way that his friends would not pay for his mistakes all the while protecting Washington, who'd been nothing but good to him.

Sometimes too good; too like a father should treat a son.

The leader kept talking but Hamilton could no longer hear him, instead opting to become lost in his own memories.

" _Must I really insist to one of my own staff to join me for a drink?" Washington's voice held no malice within, just warmth with a touch of exasperation._

 _"Your Excellency sir, it would not be proper, not right of me to-" Hamilton's voice was all propriety, as he tripped over his own words in his little seen shyness._

 _George knew that this boy could rearrange the stars themselves but abhorred affection, that this would take time, yet he still felt a pang of sorrow every time the boy rebuked his affections._

 _"Hamilton." The boy's blabbering stopped, and his head bowed, waiting for a reprimand. "I do not wish to ask again. You work too hard not to be rewarded on occasion, and I wish for a drink."_

 _Alexander wouldn't meet his superior's eyes as he stiffly nodded his consent. He would be lying if he did not say that the notice to his work did not send a tendril of pride through his gut._

 _"As you wish, Your Excellency, I suppose I could join you for a drink." Washington smiled, gesturing to his study. Alexander Hamilton was an enigma, the boy had a way about him that Washington quickly grew fond of. He could bring out emotions that Washington long thought controllable, anger, frustration, sorrow, but most of all, longing._

 _Yes, the man without a child longed to have one, longed for Alexander to accept him as something more than a superior, if only to let him play at being a father._

 _Hamilton poured Washington a drink, waiting for him to sit before serving it to him, and then hesitantly filling his own glass and moving to sit across from him._

 _He found himself relaxing more and more in the general's presence, they spoke of everything and nothing that night, staying up till the sun peaked over the horizon. Washington's subtle grin was a constant throughout the night, only growing wider when Alexander allowed himself to be clapped on the back and called 'son' without a word of protest._

 _He'd been happy with the general. Despite the death, and bleeding, and sorrow, and hopelessness that surrounded them everyday, he'd been content as they sat together in the study with whiskey in their hands and none of the usual social barriers between them. He'd felt like a son, and George Washington felt like a father._

"-nd you better heed our warnings boy, lest we have to... Are you listening? Ignoring your superiors is a form of disrespect. Officer Jones, please teach young mister Hamilton some manners." Alexander, now emerged from his thoughts, snapped his head up in time to catch a meaningful glance between Smith and Jones before he was roughly made to stand before the younger of the two.

Without much decorum Jones swung his fist into Alexander's gut, eliciting a pained gasp from the younger man as he doubled over.

One, two, three, more blows fell before he was dragged to stand in front of Smith.

"Ready to listen Colonel? I don't make a habit of repeating myself." At Hamilton's glare the Lieutenant went on, "As I said before, we've on good information that Washington has a bit of a soft spot for you; does he like playing Father, or is it something a bit more... physical?" Smith reached out to move a fallen piece of hair from Alexander's face but withdrew at his outraged lunge.

"You dare insinuate such vulgarities of a man who is and always will be worth ten times what you are?" Alexander was being held back by two of the officers; as he was unable to physically attack Smith he settled for the next best thing.

The spit hit Smith directly on his cheek. Smith looked outraged. Alexander looked smug.

Hamilton hadn't even seen Smith move before he felt the hand around his neck, the younger man gasped as the Lieutenant crushed his throat, smiling as he felt the him fight desperately for air.

When it seemed like Hamilton would pass out Smith finally released his throat, his vicious smile never faltering as Alexander greedily sucked in gulps of oxygen.

"Now, as I was saying..." Alexander felt the familiar burning of hatred as Smith so casually turned his back to him, "You bring us into the general's private quarters, and introduce us to his guards as messengers with Congress in possession of an urgent message for Washington. You will sit at your desk as if going to work on your dispatches, while we go complete this little endeavour as we so call it, and say nothing as we leave, only sounding the alarm under the guise you went to ask the general for his reply, this way you will never be implicated, I assure you."

"What you ask of me is treason."

"You committed treason the moment you joined the rebellion, boy." His voice was all cruelty and malice, "Unless you want us to sound the signal for our comrade to slit Laurens' throat, you'll do well to rem-"

"I'll do it, just don't hurt them." Alexander hung his head, his voiced sounded defeated, but his eyes shone with revenge and cunning. No one would be killed on his accord tonight.

"Good. Come along then. Men, someone give Officer Hamilton a kerchief to cover up that r _ather nasty bruise_ on his neck."

Alexander accepted the kerchief passively, his wrists were unbound when he was declared not to be a threat, and he was even left to stand on his own; they thought that they'd successfully cowed Alexander Hamilton, they were wrong.

"Don't take your guns."

"Excuse me?"

"Don't take your guns. Messengers don't carry them; the guards will notice." The redcoats glanced to Smith, who'd watched the exchange with an amused glint in his eye. He nodded his consent and the officers dutifully left their firearms.

"Let's go."

As Alexander lead them to Washington's quarters he couldn't stop the feeling of guilt that was threatening to overwhelm him, he'd thought out his plan as much as he could in this time frame but what if something went wrong? What if it didn't work?

Hamilton could be clever but he wasn't omnipotent, could he bargain the general's life for the sake of comrades? No, this has to work, Lafayette, Laurens and Mulligan were the only friends he'd ever had; he couldn't let them die.

So when he came to the guards stationed outside the general's private quarters he entered in his usual fashion, a quick acknowledgement but somewhat preoccupied.

"You return to your dispatches at such an hour Hamilton?"

"If not I then who will?" Hamilton laughed, clapping the watchmen on the back. "These men come on behalf of Congress, with a message too important to be written. I've been roused to escort them here safely and take the general's reply to paper."

The guard nodded, accepting his lie freely, "As you were." The ball of guilt grew larger within Alexander's stomach.

"You did well Hamilton, I knew you wouldn't disappoint."

"A person such as you and your cohort will burn in Hell, you must truly be senseless to think I'd ever allow a treachery such as this one." Alexander spat the words like poison, the spirit long thought broken reemerging with a vengeance.

Washington was just about to retire when he heard the shout. He knew he should have been sleeping hours ago, that each day was as long as this one and he'd never finish all of these correspondences in a night; no one could. Well, maybe Hamilton could, but that boy was a hurricane. So he'd decided to call it a night and retire to his chambers, just as the inkwell had been closed a cry had pierced the air with chilling determination.

"Stop! They're British spies!" That voice sounded worryingly familiar, what was he doing _back_ here? George knew he had returned to his tent with the other aides earlier that night. "They're spies! Guar-!"

Confused and disoriented George rose from his desk, the hints of worry beginning to appear on his face; the worry intensified as the sounds of struggle came from the hall. The general briskly walked to the door, his brows furrowed in both worry and confusion, only to find someone had locked the door from the outside.

"What in the...? Hamilton! What the devil is going on!" He tried jiggling the doorknob again, the sounds coming from outside increasing his growing panic. "Hamilton! Open the door! Hamilton! Hamil-"

A gunshot sounded through the night and George Washington felt his blood turn to ice. There was panic and desperation in his voice as he renewed his struggles.

"Hamilton! Hamilton open the door!" He'd turned to simply banging his fists on the frame, "Tell me what's going on!"

Washington ran to his desk and retrieved the pistol inside, loading it in preparation for when he would get this door open, because he would. On completion of his task he went back to fighting with the door, exclamations of alarm falling from his mouth.

Outside, Hamilton was struggling to keep himself alive. He'd had to fight back the nausea at seeing one of his comrades fall, to his own gun too. He'd lost control of his gun and one of Smith's men was there and he'd just-

He stopped the train of thought and tried to focus on what was important in that very moment.

1\. They were outnumbered. He had one ally left who was currently struggling for control of his pistol with Jones. He was struggling with Smith himself after he'd attacked him for sounding the alarm. Besides Smith and Jones he counted another two enemy soldiers in the quarters.

2\. The general was safe. Hamilton had managed to lock the door to his study after a brief interlude in his fight with Smith. As long as Hamilton stayed alive they wouldn't be able to get the key.

3\. He had to stay alive because help wasn't going to be able to come anytime soon. The remaining redcoats had barricaded the door with all the furniture they could get their hands on, it would take at least an hour or perhaps too to break through it; they were on their own.

Hamilton knew then that he would most likely die, he was tired and already injured and Smith had an enraged look to his eyes that told the aide he wouldn't relent anytime soon. Yet, he did.

Smith stopped trying to drive his dagger through Alexander's chest and looked up with savage delight.

"Hear that Hamilton? I think Daddy is worried..." Smith grinned in delight as he listened to Washington frantically try to escape the study. "Shall I make you scream before your death to torment him?"

Alexander glared at him and taking his brief mercy shoved Smith away from him, rushing to the study door. Working with quick fingers he retrieved the key from his boot and shoved it under the door.

"Sir! Don't come out of your study, they mean to kill you!" Alexander was disgusted by the lack of control in his voice but quickly became preoccupied as Smith launched himself back towards him.

Hamilton's smaller frame smashed against the door of the study, eliciting a pained gasp from the boy as his head was jarred against the wood.

"Hamilton! What the Devil is happening!" The general's warm voice was tinged with worry and panic and sounded all together _wrong._

Hamilton grappled for the dagger, his nails leaving trails of blood down the Lieutenant's arm but in his disorientation he knew he'd never gain control of the weapon.

"I'll tell you what's happening Washington!" Smith shouted over the clamour, "You're going to be in need of two," the gun sounded and Hamilton's comrade fell still, "make that three, new men."

The gunshot was all Hamilton needed to lose concentration and Smith had complete control of both the weapon and the aide. He smiled cruelly, knowing he could properly play with the general's favourite now, maybe even draw Washington from the study.

Hamilton didn't know whether to cry or laugh at both. He was going to die here, die in the war he'd never even seen a battle in, after surviving everything else God had hurled his way. He was going to die protecting the general. This was his fault. Even when he tried to diffuse the situation he still managed to get his brothers in arms killed; the general could be killed, because of him.

Washington had fallen silent as Smith had spoke, almost as if he thought noise would make the redcoat kill his aide faster; or like silence could prevent it.

Yet he could not stop the small cry from escaping his throat as he heard the sickening sound of bones cracking and a scream that seemed to crash through his ears and into his head, lasting longer than it truly was.

The voice was but a whisper yet it seemed to reverberate in Washington's mind as if spoken in a shout.

"I told you I would make you scream."

It broke Washington out of his spell and he grasped for the key before truly knowing what he was doing, jamming it into the lock and preparing to open the door.

"No! Your Excellency, don't! I was dead the moment they roused me! Stay there! Please!" Washington felt a knife drive into his heart at the pained whimpers coming from his young aide. He knew, dammit, that leaving the study would be to give up the war, but he couldn't listen to Alexander be tortured, be killed, while standing behind a closed door. "I'm not worth it."

"No, you aren't. Are you boy? You're a pretty little thing, but that's all, bet the general thinks so too, that's why he keeps you around. He just wants the luxury of a young body once in a while." Hamilton's eyes widened as Smith took his pinned wrists in one hand and flipped Alexander to face the door. His broken wrist throbbed and he could barely hold back his screams.

"N-no... What are you doing?" Hamilton resisted weakly against Smith's lingering touch, but he could feel the cool metal of the blade scrape against his skin along with his hand, he closed his eyes and tried to block out the horror as Smith began nipping at his neck.

" _Your Excellency?_ " The title coming from Smith sounded horrid and vile, "I suppose you really don't give a damn, if you could stand and listen to _this_. The Honourable George Washington indeed."

Washington wanted to scream. If he went outside he'd be equating thousands of lives, the entire war, to Alexander's. Yet he could be a selfish man and knew that he'd never live with himself if he listened to such atrocities being committed.

He'd stayed silent in cowardly terror, listening to the redcoat's tirade; though he'd nearly broken down and sobbed, and when Hamilton had let a weak protest escape after the sound of a body hitting the door was heard he knew that this was for his benefit. They wanted to hurt him and they knew exactly how to do it effectively.

Yes, they were right in choosing Alexander Hamilton as their conduit. Hamilton himself could've come inside with a pistol and a knife and he'd have kneeled and placed his forehead against the barrel if it meant Alexander would walk away. He loved him; and that was why he couldn't allow this to happen.

Washington opened the door just as Smith drew himself and Alexander back, releasing Hamilton's mangled wrist and pulling the other arm behind him. It was a small relief to Washington that they both still had their clothes intact; he'd doubted Smith would have ever fully done what he'd threatened.

"And here he is, the man of the hour. George Washington!" There was murder in Washington's eyes as he took in the sight before him. Smith was just as vile as he'd imagined from behind the door, with an evil in his eye and sadism in his voice.

"Kindly release Officer Hamilton." It didn't sound like a request.

"Why? He and I have become so very well acquainted." He pulled Hamilton closer to him, the dagger lazily tracing his neck.

George's eye flashed to one of the henchmen making his approach, and before anyone could react his gun was out and the man fell to the floor, dead.

His eyes didn't soften as he glanced at the second enemy, who was making his approach with his blade, foolishly believing that George was no longer a danger due to his unarmed state. In a few quick movements and a cry of pain he too fell to the ground, his neck an unnatural angle.

Alexander watched in a mixture of awe and horror; he'd known the general was well taught and dangerous in the art of combat, but to see him so coldly kill two men was jarring.

"I'm impressed General Washington, no remorse, no hesitation, you've demonstrated exactly why you're so revered amongst these schoolboys."

"Release him."

"Your Excellency it's not worth it to try and bargain with scum such as this-" His sentence was roughly cut off with the quick flick of the dagger, sending a small but steady stream of blood down Hamilton's jaw. Washington's eyes widened at the movement as he took an involuntary step forward, only relaxing on a minuscule level as he saw his aide still breathed.

"Hush now Alex, the grown ups are conversing now." The Lieutenant's voice was soft next to his ear, sending a shiver down Alexander's spine. His mouth opened to retort which provided all the opportunity Smith needed to pull the kerchief up around Alexander's mouth, effectively silencing the aide and revealing the darkened hand-shaped bruise upon his neck.

If possible Washington's eyes darkened even more, while Hamilton's gained that achingly familiar glint of injustice and fury.

"It takes so few words for this one to irritate, I applaud you for putting up with it. Yet, I can see in your eyes the _fear_ that I'll send him to Hell on this _fine date_. Don't despair yet General, the boy breathes still."

"I see no reason why he should be dragged into a mission designated as an assassination, not to toy with my aide-de-camp. You must know you cannot get away with this, the men outside will eventually breach the barricade resulting in the killing of you and your remaining officer."

"I am willing to die for my cause, we all are, aren't we? Besides, will he even _want_ to live after this? I imagine at the sound of gunshots my associate killed Lafayette and Laurens, pity." Hamilton gave an angry jerk, but Washington could see the despair within his brown orbs.

The boy suddenly pitched forward in the Lieutenants arms, catching Smith off guard and in consequence freeing the boy's arm. Washington's eyes widened once again, overrun with possibilities that he'd lost too much blood, that he was hurt somewhere else that he couldn't see; that he was watching his boy die.

Yet, before anyone could properly react Hamilton had scooped the blade of the fallen redcoat from the ground and had swung it into Smith's thigh. The pressure on his broken wrist left Hamilton thankful for the gag in his mouth. Jones advanced on Hamilton but Washington swiftly intercepted and struck him with the back of the pistol against his temple.

Smith let out a strangled cry, shifting into a low growl as he glared at Hamilton. Hamilton half stumbled half crawled towards George, who met him half way and lifted him from the floor. The man seemed reluctant to let his aide go, moving his sweat-matted hair away from his face and taking in his injuries.

"You're alright. You're alright." Washington embraced Alexander, unsure if he was reassuring the younger man or himself. Alexander stiffened up at the display of affection, more out of surprise than anything else.

"Both your blood shall run in rivers by morning break, I swear it." Breaking their embrace Hamilton glanced behind him at Smith who was now heavily favouring his left leg, his voice sounding as dangerous as the Devil, and the dagger dripping his own blood gripped tightly in his grasp.

"Hamilton lock yourself in the study." It was an order and they both knew it yet Hamilton wouldn't obey. "Alexander."

"No. This fight is as much mine as yours." Always the stubborn one, George mused.

The general opened his mouth, most likely to make a demand of some sort, but instead threw his aide to the side and dodged the sloppily swung dagger coming from the wounded wolf that stood before them.

Alexander fell to the ground, feeling his arms and chest become covered in the blood that had already been shed tonight. It splashed against his face and for a moment he forgot that he needed to breathe.

Washington wrestled with Smith, knocking him back more than he could swing his dual daggers. It was a dance and one of them was exhausted and dancing on a broken foot. A crash came from the entrance way, capturing both opponents' attention.

Hamilton threw piece after piece of furniture away from the barricade, having made a small hole that reached the door he could see his comrades frantically battering their way inside. Thanking small mercies for the door opening outward he stuck his arm out with a panicked shout.

"It's Hamilton! Go check on Lafayette and John." There was a pause. "Just send a pair of men and check on them I beg of you!"

Alexander glanced back, observing the general and lieutenant renewing their struggles, the four bodies on the floor, and the missing fifth.

"Give me a gun!"

"What?"

"For God's sake! Don't question and pass forth a pistol!" His eyes rapidly scanned the quarters, fear seeping into his chest at the realization that _he couldn't see Jones_. Things seemed to happen both simultaneously and in a slow progression of events from there;

Hamilton grasped the cool metal of the gun. Jones launched himself at the general from behind, a dagger raised. The gun went off; Jones fell. Smith got four punches to the General Washington's temple, causing the larger man to stumble back. Washington replied by grabbing his enemy by the shoulders and kneeing him repeatedly in the gut.

And finally, finally, all enemies were still.

Hamilton breathed out a relieved sigh, the exhaustion from the night's events beginning to show as his weary frame sunk against the barricade in a moment's of rest. His eyes were haunted and guilty, the blood of his comrades splattered against his skin and their deaths replaying within his mind.

Washington made his way over to the lad, also looking war-weary, and taking hold of his shoulders, looked him dead the eye and muttered no louder than they both could hear,

"I've never been prouder of you than tonight, son. I know that we lost some men tonight, I know you may think that that is your fault, but I am telling you, with utmost certainty, _none_ of this is your doing. You were put into an impossible situation, I can deduce as much, there wasn't going to be a way to get out of it without loss of life-"

"I should've- I should've just let them-"

"No." Washington's voice was firm but endearing and his eyes took on an almost wild quality, "Don't you ever think that you should've died instead. We need you alive, _I_ need you alive. Dear god, Hamilton, when I thought they were going to kill you- you can't imagine what was going through my mind."

"Sir, I-"

"No, let me finish. When I was locked inside my study I couldn't see anything, at any moment you could've been killed, and I wouldn't have known. That was one of the worst moments of my life and I don't want to repeat it. That is why I keep you away from the battlefield son, and even still I couldn't keep you out of harm's way."

"Sir, this is a war. Your guardsmen surely never expected to die in the midst of the camp, but they were prepared to. I am more than willing to die!"

"Yet I am not willing to let you die Alexander!"

They stared at each other for a moment, before Alexander finally relented and scoffed, looking away from his commanding officer.

"Yes Your Excellency. I shall begin clearing away what's left of the furniture then."

"Hamilton, I-"

"Your Excellency, I am really quite tired, and there's no doubt hours of being fussed over in the medical tent ahead, so if it were to be all the same to you, I'd like a moment to collect myself."

"Of course," Washington sounded disappointed, there was something there that was unsaid, but Hamilton was in no mood to press the matter. "I shall be in my study, please call once they're through."

"Yes sir."

Hamilton bent down, retrieving a fallen dagger from the floor and slipping it into his belt before turning away from George and beginning his task.

Sighing, Washington retreated to the sanctity of his study, pouring himself a finger's worth of whiskey. Gingerly he picked up the key to his study, musing over the dilemma that would never have occurred had Hamilton never been in possession of the key; though he smiled fondly at the reason why his aide did. Always the stubborn one, always the late worker, he was nearly constantly the last away from his desk, and therefore was usually tasked with locking George's study when he decided to retire.

Tomorrow, he would speak more with Hamilton, express his sentiments, despite Hamilton's usual demeanour of them. He'd say all that he couldn't tonight, how he cherished and loved and worried about the young man.

Hamilton too, heaved a sigh as he began shifting furniture away from the door. He could hear the shouting from the hole still, but chose instead to ignore it in favour of his own musing. He'd allowed himself a moment's joy upon the confirmation that his friends lived still, but he could not muster the strength to prolong it.

When the barricade became pathetic enough for him to rest he closed his eyes in preparation for the barrage to come, blocking out their incessant babbling and savouring his self-made silence.

So the sound of a dagger ripping through flesh came as quite a surprise.

For that is what Hamilton heard first, his aching body not truly registering the pain, until his mouth opened and let out an almighty wail as the dagger was yanked from his back.

His back had exploded with a pain unlike any he'd ever experienced, it felt like it was on fire or that someone was pouring boiling water against it. His breath came in ragged intervals, his body staying upright only due to his bracing of the barricade in front of him. Alexander was aware of Smith whispering something into his ear but couldn't make out the words, and his world was becoming a blur of colours and noise, with the blackness tinging the edge.

Yet, he still maintained his ability to string a coherent thought together, and thus he desperately fumbled for the dagger in his belt.

Washington rushed back into the room just in time to witness the dying act of a desperate man, as he turned himself around and buried the dagger into Smith's abdomen.

For a moment Washington breathed in a sigh of relief, thinking that Hamilton had merely been startled by Smith, that this was over once and for all; that everything would still be fine. But he could not delude himself any longer when Hamilton too collapsed, and a pool of blood stained his trousers that had not been there before.

 _No. No, no, no, no, **no**. Not now, not when they were so close._

"Hamilton!" Washington kneeled next to him, a frantic look to his eyes as he searched for the wound. Finding it George felt his throat close and a scream build, "Oh God, no."

"It hurts, it hurts, oh God..." Hamilton was whimpering at the prodding, yelping like a wounded pup when Washington turned him over onto his side. Hysterically he grasped Washington's shirt, gasping when a sudden pressure was applied to his back. "Stop!" Tears were making their way down his cheeks but for once he didn't care, "It hurts, it hurts, stop, please, please!"

Suddenly, it stopped hurting. Alexander couldn't feel the wound anymore than he could feel the world spinning. Vaguely he was aware of a shouting near his ear, and a wetness splashing against his cheeks, but there was no pain, no suffering, just a sense of calm and peace. Breathing felt much easier than it had seconds ago, for he no longer felt that he was drowning. Wherever this place was he wished to stay there forever.

Someone was hugging him, back there. Someone, who was it again? The word _father_ was there, but he knew that that wasn't correct, so who was holding him? A name surged through his mind with a vengeance, _Washington_ , and with it came the pain of his wounds.

He took a gasping breath for air, he needed air, but only managed to convulse as his mouth gurgled with something coppery that he desperately wanted to spit.

"Come back, come back... Fight Alexander! Please! Don't go, don't go. It's going to be okay, you're going to be okay, just stay with me." His ramblings went on, as he clutched the man to his chest with one hand while applying pressure to the stab wound with the other.

Washington was beyond distraught, he'd begged and pleaded and screamed when his boy's grip had suddenly fell slack against his lap, while his breathing came more and more non-existent. He'd sobbed and held him, wondering why God would take another child from him, when he'd been nothing but faithful. He couldn't lose him, he couldn't, he couldn't...

And then Hamilton had taken his sudden breath and he once again gripped George's tunic and for a moment George let himself _hope_.

His men burst through the door, stopping at the scene in front of them. Some were struck with horror, some with despair, and some with pity, as for only a moment they didn't see the figurehead leader of the revolution, they saw a man close to mourning his child.

The moment snapped away as the medic was rushed in, along with a stretcher; miraculously Officer Hamilton was still breathing, but from the grave look the medic gave his apprentices, the chances of survival were slim.

"Come, we must away." The medic spoke, not even bothering to comment on General Washington's accompaniment.

Once alone the remaining men surveyed what was left of the general's quarters, few exclamations falling past their lips.

"Oh Holy Mother..."

"Christ."

"Lord, help us."

For quite literally, the room looked like a bloodbath. There was no where a man could step without his boots sloshing with the blood of one man or another, they'd all mixed together. Six bodies were cleared from the slaughter, and in terror they waited for news of the seventh.

By dawn a wail unheard to the world echoed through the camp, and a whisper found its way through the lips of every solider.

"Alexander Hamilton succumbed to his injuries this morning."

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 **A.N: So... Just so everyone knows, Hamilton had a 50/50 chance of living at the end of this, but upon consulting my friend we (she) decided he would die; so blame her if you've got angst feels going right now. Constructive criticism is always appreciated, especially since this is my first try at this fandom and _know_ that this isn't my best piece of work. I don't actually think it's good to be honest, just a lil plot bunny in my head.**

 **Anyways, thanks for reading! Feel free to leave a request for another WashingDad story, as I quite like writing them.**

 **Stay awesome.**


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